


Down in the Underground

by maybeillride



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: ...kiiiinda, ACWNR, Alternate Universe - 1990s, BDSM Scene, Berlin (City), Berlin Clubscene AU, Gen, Light Voyeurism, M/M, Mike is the best wingman of all time, Multi, POV Erwin Smith
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 07:01:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6069706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erwin and Mike wanted to check out a certain BDSM club in Berlin while they were in town on business, but were disappointed at how safe it all was (or maybe they were just getting too damn old for this). That is, until they met the owner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down in the Underground

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brainindacloudz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brainindacloudz/gifts).



> For the lovely brainindacloudz, my partner in Eruri. I just hope it feels even VAGUELY "German"... ;P

_…so. We finally made it,_ I muse, leaning next to Mike against the bar, both of us in full stealth-survey mode. The sheer din of the place, a hollow pulsing _boom-boom-boom_ that also rattles like the crap VW I used to drive, is sort of making me feel ill and we’ve only been here 15 minutes. Goddamn “industrial” “music.” But I’m committed. My folks didn’t raise a quitter.

Mike tips his head over subtly and makes some comment.

“What??”

“We finally made it!” Mike tries again, and I grin back.

“Living the dream!” I yell only semi-ironically, and crash my mug into my friend’s. We put our heads back and take a long drink.

Mike burps, loudly, when he’s done and a server in full Goth wear whacks him in a motherly way on the back with her free hand as she passes. She winks and she’s gone, and even I find myself craning over to check out the view as she goes. Mike just smiles when we’re facing each other again.

“Who knew it’d only take a little eyeliner to turn you to the dark side.”

“Hey, I’m not blind! I can appreciate aesthetics,” I defend. Mike raises an eyebrow over his mug. “You wanna go ask her when she gets off? I’ll wait for you.”

 _...because nothing here is doing it for me,_ I finish but don’t say, because this is our big night out and we’re going back to Frankfurt tomorrow, and I don’t want to wreck the evening when it’s hardly even started. But my people-reading skills that have made me the best headhunter our firm has ever had are already telling me: we may have been _told_ this place was the edgiest BDSM club in Berlin, but no one here really knows what danger means. They’re just skipping around playacting like they do.

And I’m looking for the real thing.

Mike hasn’t bothered to answer me, reading my mood as always and going quiet as he drains the rest of his beer. We just watch for a while, the few dancers out on the floor making some kind of abstract performance art piece in the strobe lights and general insanity of the “music,” a constantly-changing wall of people around us pressing in to order drinks or lean on the bar and try to have a conversation with each other. I’m guessing people assume we’re together (and in a way they’d be right), but I feel eyes checking us out and three people try to pick us up.

The first time, it’s another “couple,” two middle-aged-looking guys in a pair of leather jackets that cost too much to be dragging through this trashy place. They have identical beards, too, perfectly groomed, and they eye-fuck me and Mike with bright enthusiasm before the taller one leans in to me.

“Come here often?” he starts.

“Not interested. Sorry,” Mike interrupts, putting a possessive hand on my shoulder and managing to seem both apologetic and threatening. I don’t know how he does it. But it works, the slumming couple offering uncomfortable smiles before backing off.

The second time, it’s a skinny, gangly kid, maybe half our age. He stumbles into us and from the sheen of sweat on him and his dinner-plate pupils I’d say he’s been on the dancefloor tweaking his little heart out, probably on Ecstasy, based on how he throws his arms around us.

“Heyyyy! You guys want company? You look like you want company,” and his breath should be a science experiment, and before we know it his hands are checking out our assets.

I don’t need Mike this time to gather the kid’s wrists together, sending a few free words of advice into his ear (and ignoring the way he squirms in pleasure) before giving him a firm push away.

We’re on our third beers when it happens.

Someone jostles my right side, just slightly, as they snake their way in to lean over the bar and order. They _have_ to lean, I notice as I idly turn to look them over.

The person next to me is _little._ For a slightly-buzzed second I wonder how a boy managed to get past the bouncer – and even then I’m blinking, unsure if I’m looking at a girl instead. They’re so slender and almost… delicate, though I can’t get too good a look in their all-black ensemble. He (as I see now, by the Adam’s apple poking out of the long line of an almost elegant throat, perfectly lit by the bar lights) is calling the bartender over just by putting a finger in the air, so casual like he’s hailing a cab but almost can’t be bothered. I find my eyes shifting from that vulnerable throat to his hand, his bones fine, skin so pale he could almost be a vampire.

_Fitting._

The bartender jumps to help the new arrival in about a third of the time he’s given to anyone else tonight. I screw discretion and turn all the way around, leaning my stomach into the bar next to him and observing. I feel Mike keeping tabs on my other side.

“Levi!” the formerly surly bartender beams, like he’s greeting a brother. He’s already filling a glass with something on the rocks and pushing it across the bar. The guy nods and takes the drink, holding it in this affected way that covers the rim. I find myself scoffing, and then this Levi flicks a glance up at me though there’s no way he could’ve heard. And that look is so cold it could kill, sort of like liquid nitrogen.

I feel myself smirking back.

“How are things going out there?” the bartender continues, glancing between us like he’s Levi’s bodyguard detail.

“Mmm, you know. Same shitheads, different day,” Levi says, and he doesn’t even bother raising his voice like that would be _too common_ or something. “You know, Farlan, every fucking day I wonder why I run this place. When I’m just catering to poseurs. It gets old.” He looks up, fixing both me and Mike in that gaze this time. And I may be just deluding myself, but I can swear there’s a challenge there, somewhere in the way his ruthlessly-plucked eyebrows lift, or maybe in the quirk of those tiny lips. Lips I can see myself sucking in, suddenly, claiming for Erwin and Erwin alone.

“Hi. Erwin here.” Unlike this little lord of the club, I pitch my voice loud enough so no one can mishear me. I lay a hand on Mike’s shoulder. “This is my friend and coworker, Mike. We’re up from Frankfurt, heard so much about this place we thought we’d be poseurs for a night.”

Levi blinks mutely for a few seconds, while the bartender’s gone back to surly-mode and crosses his arms over his chest. I wonder what _his_ problem is – as we’re paying customers and all – and spy unmistakable attraction, probably unrequited, and my mood lightens even further.

“…though, I gotta say, it’s a little disappointing. We thought the Underground would be a little… darker? But nah. It’s just another bar. Nothing we couldn’t have done back home. Ah, well,” I sigh in mock sadness, and Mike gives one of his snorts next to me, and the bartender goes from surly to angry.

“Hey, this is Levi’s club, and he does a damn good job managing it, so you can shut up or take your asses elsewhere,” the guy barks with a look that could kill, and I can’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, holding my hands up in surrender. I feel the dry-ice stare on my left, traveling from my profile down my arm and tight faded jeans before coming back home.

“We’ll be good,” I promise. I pause, then figure _what the fuck._ “To be fair, we haven’t got any further than the bar, which I guess in a place like this is like going to the doctor’s and staying in the waiting room.”

“…so you like playing doctor, huh,” Levi says blandly, turned to face us so he can lean an elbow on the bar, rest his head in his hand like he’s almost unfathomably bored. I can’t believe how unintentionally cute it is. _Dear God, he’s short,_ I marvel.

Mike busts in like the loyal wingman he is. “Erwin likes playing a lot of things.” Somehow he puts it across with zero embellishment while at the same time hinting at depths of filth the likes of which few have seen.

Levi kicks up a foot so he can lean around me to get a better look at the human tree I’m with. “ _Does_ he. Well, I hate to contradict myself so soon, but I wonder if I may have been wrong about tonight.” Levi glances up at his bartender, and I delude myself that he may be softening to us, even as I’m not convinced that’s what I want.

“Farlan, get a couple of Jagerbombs for these guys. They seem like the type. On me,” he adds, then turns to stare at us again, tapping his fingers impatiently on the bar while Farlan drops the shotglasses into two new beers with a hostility I can practically taste. They slosh a little as he shoves them over to us.

“I know where you guys are, so don’t even _think_ of hurting him,” he growls, and Levi just sighs.

“We gotta get you laid, sweetheart,” he sends over his shoulder, as he gets a hand in each of our front pockets and leads us away. All we can do is follow, slurping at our spicy and ridiculously alcoholic beer so we aren’t wearing it, Levi taking us around the edge of the dancefloor with a purpose that says he knows _exactly_ where we’re headed. I notice with amusement that no one gets too close to us – or rather, to him – as we pass, like he’s the goddamn King (or Queen).

We end up in a dark hallway fronted by closed doors, passing muffled yells of either pleasure or pain (or both). In the sudden relative darkness and quiet, the pulse in my neck is heavy and hard like I just ran a 50 meter sprint. Levi’s neck is the only thing I can really see ahead of us and that’s when I first notice his hair, buzzed in an undercut like mine that does an almost obscene job of accentuating his pretty nape.

It’s the first thing I attack when he finally – _finally_ – gets us into a vacant room, which I notice nothing about as I’m too busy sucking his neck while I press him to me insistently with my left hand. He immediately protests my moves or maybe the Jagerbomb I just spilled down his side, squirming away before I can even get a good feel for what his abdomen is like.

“Hey, doofus. Ever hear of _ground rules?_ ” He doesn’t just roll his eyes, he _throws_ them back and Mike is chuckling like he’s having the time of his life. Levi flicks his glare to my buddy and nods at him, deciding to play both bad cop and good cop, apparently. Drama queen.

“So, _Mike_ here gets it.” He slinks over in a way that’s 100% self-conscious, 100% a performance – and yet, I’m realizing that’s Levi’s comfort zone. He performs, maybe, because he has to: because that’s just how big the personality is that’s contained in that tiny body, and it’s the only way to give the world even a hint of who he really is.

He stops just in front of my friend, and still Mike doesn’t bite, just sipping politely at his drink with his other hand in his pocket. Levi nods up at him again.

“Okay. Rules. You two tie me up –” He gestures like a game show hostess and I see the bed for the first time, a barely-padded thing that’s basically a hospital gurney with the brakes on. Leather straps sit ready at various points, and a more elaborate setup hangs overhead, though I don’t think we’ll need it. After the unexpected turn tonight has taken, I feel little need to be a tourist on the wild side.

Levi’s going on and we listen obediently. “You do whatever gets your rocks off. But make no mistake, I’m calling the shots. I tell you to do something, you start doing it before I’m done talking. Got it?”

“Yes, sir,” Mike says, wearing his best poker face, and Levi keeps an eye on him for a second, like he’s running some final numbers in his head. Then he nods a last time and reaches up – way up (Mike’s even taller than me, and the little guy can hardly make it) to grab him by the back of the neck, drag him down. The kiss Levi gives him is fierce, and unapologetic, and _grabby,_ like he’s an asshole kid on the playground who knows I want the same toy and wants to rub my face in the fact that he got it first. I throw back the rest of my drink and don’t taste a thing.

Meanwhile, Mike is clearly sick of their unnatural angle and feels liberated by our orders, as he stoops to sweep Levi up. The little man wraps himself easily around my friend as they kiss their way to the gurney, running his hands through Mike’s long hair until it’s a haphazard mess.

Mike tosses Levi down, gets a surprised gasp out of him, and dives in to strip off his tight black trousers while Levi somehow has enough fine-motor left to unbutton his black dress shirt. And it’s so surreal to watch, my oldest friend taking each limb of this mysterious guy and securing it, leaning over him to kiss him far more gently than before, exchanging words I can’t make out. This time Levi is the one who’s scoffing and then Mike is straightening up, shambling over to where I’m breathless against the wall.

“…he wants you,” he tells me, in the same tone he’d use to remind me we have a meeting with marketing or something.

“Damn. You guys sure got close fast,” I say, unable to be jealous of him.

Mike just shrugs. “Eh. I’m just the appetizer. He said he wants ‘the Commander.’” He makes air quotes.

I blink. “Uh, yeah, I did. Any fucking day now,” comes Levi’s voice, irritated and impatient and I slowly smile because that’s for _me._

Mike backs off, sidestepping to the door. And then I can finally get my first real look at Levi: at this improbable, ridiculous guy, so bright under the unkind track lighting they have up over the bed. He’s playing cool, laying perfectly still like he gets tied up every day and it’s no big deal (which for all I know is the case), but his well-muscled chest is another story, rising and falling way too fast, flushed pink. His fully-erect cock is an even bigger giveaway. I want that in my hand, and in my mouth, not necessarily in that order.

His stare finds me again, bordering on rude, and I see no point in waiting any longer.

Mike catches my shoulder as I start towards the bed and I manage to glance over. “I’m gonna take off, give you two some privacy. See you back at the hotel,” he says calmly, his grip on my arm the only indication of what’s up. “Have fun, and be careful.”

I laugh a little recklessly. “How careful do I have to be? Guy’s tied up.” I hear a mocking little sound from the bed.

Mike just shakes his head at that, as he should, and pats me one last time before he lets himself out.

**Author's Note:**

> 1000 apologizes for that tease ending. But that seemed so Eruri to me. They're one big tease. And that's just one reason we love them ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! <3


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